


Sleeping with the Enemy

by ggfoye



Series: Feysand One-Shots (Fluff, Smut, Angst) [5]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst No Happy Ending, Book 3: A Court of Wings and Ruin, Daemati, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mating Bond, Mind Sex, One Shot, Smut, The Spring Court (ACoTaR), dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggfoye/pseuds/ggfoye
Summary: [+18] Feyre realizes she will have to do it—she has postponed it enough. Tamlin is looking expectantly at her at every turn. After she tells Rhysand, he insists on being there with her.One-Shot. Set during the time Feyre is in the Spring Court in ACOWAR.I do not own any of the characters, Sarah J. Maas does.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin
Series: Feysand One-Shots (Fluff, Smut, Angst) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942270
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	Sleeping with the Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Non/Dub-Con. Okay, so this is a bit hard to approach, and I think each reader will see it differently and in their own way. As much as it is consensual in the sense that Feyre is willingly doing it, I will put the warning because she's not *ungrudgingly* doing it. It's a delicate subject and as much as I tried to convey it being as mindfully as possible, I know it might still be a sensitive topic for some people to come across. So read at your own risk.

I hadn't talked directly to Feyre for a few weeks now. I didn't want to distract her, or risk exposing her by leaving our mating bond scent even more pungent while she was still in the Spring Court. Her mental gates were shut most of the time, barely slipping tiny cracks, and only when she was sleeping.

But I could still _feel_ her. That wasn't something that could be repressed. Even if our mental connection was dormant, our physical one could never be.

I felt her anguish, her pain, her rage, her longing. But above all, her rage.

She was constantly angry, even if she was able to perfectly mask it under innocent eyes and ladylike smiles. It was infuriating seeing her play the part her ex-fiancé thought to be appropriate of her—her, a huntress, a protector, a powerful _High Lady_ , for Cauldron's sake—and what could've very well been her life had she stayed in the Spring Court for good. Pretty dresses, party-planning and lady’s companions. Anything to downplay and patronize the infinity of earth-shattering powers writhing underneath her skin.

However, she abided. She bare the endless hours talking jewelry and flowers and parties with Ianthe and she stood quietly in Tamlin's meetings—always the watchful pawn, never the acting player. For that bastard, her presence was already more than enough. Unnecessary; unwelcome, even. But he'd compromised.

Feyre was relentless, unyielding and uncomplaining. She took everything with a coyly gracious smile and kept the rage on a tight leash on the outside. A perfect wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Which was why I insisted on scratching her mind walls when a sudden wave of overwhelming panic washed over me one morning when I was heading to the Court of Nightmares with Mor. She saw my abrupt blank and appalled expression and simply nodded when I asked her to go on without me.

I wouldn't usually pull a tug or reach her through the bond. It was almost always her first, because I didn't want to bother or disrupt her act. But the distress and nervousness I'd felt made it impossible for me to hold myself back.

If he'd so much as laid a finger on her again, I wouldn't care for laws, or wars or disguises. I would storm into that damned, poor excuse of a court and rip him to shreds piece by piece after Feyre was done with him. And I would do it with a smile on my face.

A tiny breach opened up for me.

 _Feyre, darling?_ , I asked urgently. _What's going on? Are you okay?_

There was only silence, though I could feel her presence there, and then what I swore had been a sniff. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke in my mind.

_Rhys... I know we've never talked about this, but... But I might have to do it._

Silence. Complete and utter silence inside me and down the bond for a long while.

 _Rhys_.

I knew what she meant. She didn't have to explain it for that sentence to settle into my chest like a poisoned dagger.

I'd felt it before. _Sensed_ it. Back when she hadn't yet come to the Night Court, back when she was still _his_. When she still had no control over her mental shields. It was excruciating back then—I couldn't even imagine what it would feel like now.

I'd felt the ghost touching, the incoherent thoughts, the agonizingly, unbearably, unmistakable bodily sensations.

And although it was the most accurate definition of hell, that was not what concerned me. Because those had been times she'd been willingly and gladly engaged in it. It wasn't _me_ and _my_ sanity I was worried about now.

_Feyre, say the word. Say the word and I'll come get you. Just say the word and I'll end him right now._

_Tempting_ , she thought, unable to sound casual due to the light whimpering tone in her voice, _but no, Rhys. It wouldn't help our cause and it would only complicate things_.

My breathing became ragged with fury. I had vaguely noticed I'd winnowed myself to the Mountain Palace. I had to sit down on the couch and grip its leather arm like my life depended on it to avoid throwing something. Or throwing up.

_I can't stand the idea of you putting yourself through this. Of you having to stand him touching you, hurting you..._

Even inside my mind my voice came out strangled.

 _I know_ , she murmured quietly, _I do too. I can barely stand the thought of it. It makes me sick. But I hate even more the idea of you suffering because of it—my pain, I can deal with . But yours... knowing I'm the cause.._., she trailed off. _I can't stand the idea of hurting you_.

Of course she'd be worried about _me_. She was willing to sacrifice herself, her body, her _mind_ , to save ourselves and her main concern would be if my _feelings_ would be hurt.

I couldn't help scoffing a desperate laugh when I said, _I won't hold it against you if_ that's _what you're worried about, Feyre._

And I could feel it. Cassian's, and Mor's, and Azriel's and Amren's anger when I made that same choice over 50 years ago. When I chose to give myself over to protect them, to protect my court.

 _He's getting suspicious,_ she tried to explain, _I can see it. It's been months and the whole I-don't-wanna-be-touched-like-this-yet excuse is getting a little old. Lucien's already been breathing down my neck since day one. And Tamlin... as much of a clueless idiot that he is, he's catching on to it too. He's watching me expectant at every turn I make. And your scent, it... it just won't fade. People are starting to notice. I need to get his mind off of it, at least. I can't have him on your back too._

I took a deep breath. My mate was alone in enemy territory, surrounded by innumerable potential threats. I couldn't burden her with my own concerns over her. She had to decide for herself what she thought was best for her at that moment, as much as it killed me. Though it didn't stop me from being drowned in sorrow and agony.

_Are you sure you need to put yourself through this?_

Silence.

Then more silence.

Then a hesitant question, laced with guilt and suffering.

 _How did you do it? With Amarantha.._.

My heart twinged and twisted in ways I thought impossible at that question... Coming from her. As if she expected a survival instruction manual. And despite all that; and hating myself and the world and all else but her; I began talking.

———

_I'll shut down the bond so you don't feel it._

_No!_ , I quickly rasped back, panicked.

 _No?_ , she asked, confused and a bit shocked.

I took a deep breathe to try to calm myself down. It didn't work.

 _No, I... by the Cauldron, Feyre. I don't know what to... Give me a second, okay? I need to think._

Every idea seemed terrible, each one more torturous than the other. My stomach was turning over; I could feel the bile coming up my throat and I forced it down to pull myself together. If I was in that much affliction and torment, I couldn't even imagine what Feyre was going through. Picturing herself with the one who nearly destroyed her—who watched her destroy herself for him and just _sat_ there. Then treated her like a trophy wife when she came back from overcoming all things, even _death_ for him and his court.

And now she'd have to destroy herself again for him, only to destroy him right back. She would be the one sitting there and doing nothing this time. But before that could happen, she would have to feel his fingers on her skin again, and try not to flinch. She would have his hands on her body and would have to mask the disgust with pleasure. Trick her mind into seeing the roses and ignoring the thorns. Trick her body into welcoming the parasite instead of expelling it. She would have _him_ inside her and would have to joyously moan and breathe and pant like it wasn't killing her. Like his touch was sparkling champagne and not burning acid.

And after torturing myself with those musings and the cruel, ironic parallel that was not lost on me, I decided there was only one possible option I could live with. Hardly tolerable, but still better than the alternative—

_Let me be with you._

Shocked, disturbed silence followed. Then—

_What? No! What do you mean?_

_Let me be there for you._

A surge of feelings began streaming uncontrollably down the bond. Guilt, shame, desperation, dread, angst, disbelief... and love. So, but so much love.

 _Rhys... No. I can't... I can't ask that of you. It's not... it's not fair_ , she whimpered.

 _What's not fair is you having to do this. I won't let you go through it alone, Feyre. You're not asking_ me _, I'm asking_ you _._

A phantom sob went up my chest and I realized she'd started crying. We were so caught up in each other in that moment that it felt like we were almost physically intertwined, residing deep in each other's skin. I was home but could barely see my surroundings. All there was in the universe was me and Feyre and that thread linking us together. I could only hope she was someplace safe and away from observers given the trancelike connection we had dived into.

Her cries broke my heart.

_Feyre, darling. The idea of you doing this, of you sacrificing yourself like this... it's already unbearable enough as it is. As much as it'll be excruciating to witness, it will be even more if I have to stand back and think of you suffering through it alone. Let me be there for you._

_Rhys_ , she cried out, and I simply waited. _Gods, I don't deserve you._

I tried to smile to soothe her mind, but it probably came out miserable.

 _Don't, Feyre. You know I love you more than anything. No—more than everything. More than life itself. You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. If you're going through hell, well then I'll be right there by your side._

Feyre was sobbing for quite some time; I just patiently waited and kept her company, caressing soothingly the bond between us.

Her next words came out slightly less faint, like she was pushing herself to act tougher.

_Tonight, then._

_Tonight, then_ , was all I managed to say.

———

I couldn't taste it anymore. The amber liquid ran down my throat like water. There was no burning sensation anymore, just pure and utter hollowness.

I could feel their eyes on me—my family. By the way they stared, reluctantly concerned and even a bit horrified, I knew I must've been looking wretched. But there was also power emanating from me. Darkness of the most dreadful kind, and I made no effort to glamour it. So they new better than to say something.

We were eating dinner silently in the dining room in the House of Wind, and I'd showed up already in the worst of spirits. So Cassian made no snarky commentaries. Elain, who'd been utterly apathetic and unresponsive for the last months, even seemed to show a reaction at my lack of will to hold back my powers. Even Nesta appeared to be more sensible and acquiesced to my current mood. Amren and Azriel watched me warily, and Mor—she was the hardest look to bear—seemed completely mortified and concerned for me.

By the time we were all done, I simply stood up from my chair, announcing, "I'll be in my chambers here at the House of Wind. I need to do something for your High Lady tonight. Don't expect me until tomorrow. If the house is on fire, leave me behind. If the world is falling apart, fix it. Don't disturb me until morning."

They stared as I left the table, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and bringing it with me. If shocked by my formality or the obvious urgency of what I had to do, I didn't know or care. I only sustained Amren's eyes on me, and only for a second. Somehow, I realized she'd understood what was about to happen tonight somewhere far south to our court; and also upstairs of where we stood. She nodded, looking almost sad and compassionate for me and Feyre, but I did not have the energy to return the favor.

I locked the door behind me and went to stand on the balcony. Not even the breathtaking view of the night sky was enough to get my head off of what Feyre would be going through that night. The sight was just a blur of darkness and dots of light that made no sense to my eyes.

Even though it did me no good, I sent the image to Feyre, hoping it would comfort her somehow. Shortly after, her mental talons stroked my adamant walls tenderly.

 _Hi_ , she murmured quietly.

 _Hi, my love_. I tried using my most soothing tone, but the desperation behind it was explicit even to my own brain. _How are you doing?_

_I feel sick to my stomach. But I think I can do this._

_Are you sure, Feyre?_ , I asked, even though I'd promised myself I wouldn't make it harder on her by questioning her decision again. Hearing the sadness in her voice, I just couldn't help myself.

_No. But I have to. Any longer and he'll start suspecting something's off. And Lucien is too perceptive. Maybe if I can get Tamlin to trust me more he'll get off my back a bit._

I brushed my hair back a bit desperately. _Alright. I'm right here. If at any point—and I mean any point—you want to stop and leave, just say the word and I'll come get you._

 _Thank you, Rhys_. Her voice was drowning in guilt and gratitude.

_Let me in when you're ready._

I kept myself at bay in her mind, letting her sort through her own thoughts alone for a while without interfering. She was nervous about my being here. Not because she had any issues with me going through her mind. No—but because she was scared for me. For what I'd witness. For what I'd bear for her. Little did she know I didn’t care about me, not really, not when whatever I went through she'd go through a hundred times worse.

After a couple minutes, a larger breach opened in her mental walls and I braced myself for what I was going to see before stepping in.

My hands were still on the handrails on the balcony in Velaris, my face still touched by the gentle cool night breeze; but my mind was in a large bedroom on a far away land. It's his bedroom, I realize by the amount of weapons displayed on a table. There's candles all around, making up the ambiance. It's sickening, but I try to keep my thoughts to myself.

Feyre is wearing only a silky pearly nightgown that barely covers anything. But it's virginal—pure. Nothing she'd ever use for me. No, this was more well-suited for the sweet, nurturing female Tamlin believed her to be.

 _He's coming,_ she thinks, and only short seconds later the door opens. The sight of him fills my physical surroundings with furious darkness.

He looks to be just back from a hunting trip. Weapons and bows attached to his clothes, mud on his boots. But he seems clean, almost as if he'd left the hard work for someone else to do. It doesn't surprise me.

His eyes shimmer when he finds her standing in the middle of the room and sees what she's done to the place—what she's planned for them.

"Feyre," he says in awe.

I take a large sip straight from the bottle.

"Hey," she answers shyly.

He approaches, walking slowly as if he might scare her away. "You look... beautiful."

Feyre blushes and looks down sheepishly. A perfect doll for his entertainment. A perfect lady for his annoyingly floral-patterned court. My blood boils in my veins.

"What's all this?"

She looks around and smiles, restrained. "I think it's time. I know I haven't been... myself lately. I think I just needed some time," she says, sounding slightly insecure and bashful—no doubt what she was aiming for. "But... I miss you."

Tamlin starts taking off his weapons and putting them down, looking at her with contained joy and a bit of worrying.

"Are you sure, my love?"

"I'm ready." Not really an answer.

As soon as he's out of his hunting fittings, he comes close to her and lifts up her chin. I can feel Feyre fighting the urge to flinch or recoil. I know that feeling all too well. And so instead of throwing up like my body urges to, I caress our bond, trying to ease her nerves as much as I, too, feel repulsed by the scene. I swallow thickly and double check that I'm keeping my feelings and thoughts to myself, doing my best to just be there for her.

Tamlin leans down and his lips brush hers softly, barely touching, clearly wanting to be gentle and loving. She's disgusted. And she so she presses her mouth against his harshly, eager to just be done with it. Her expression carries a frown that he interpreted as one of wanton, as if she was trying to grab onto some self-control. Little did he know that her self-control was to not slit his throat open.

"I love you, Feyre," he groans against her mouth.

Feyre moans against him what could be an I love you, though I see in her mind is meant to be an I loathe you. She then bites his lower lip a little bit harder than necessary, drawing out blood, and smirks wickedly at him from under her eyelashes. Obviously, it only spurs him on.

Tamlin grabs her legs and pulls her up, carrying her to the bed, and I down another long sip.

For now, Feyre is keeping it together as well as she can given the situation, and this gives me hope that she won't return home the zombie I'd first found her like. She'll be fine. This _won't_ break her. He touches her and she hates every point of contact that they share and her stomach turns over but she does not yield.

I realize that while she kisses him with the hunger of the miserable, she's thinking of my scent, trying to block the disgustingly sweet one coming from him. Pulling my own memories of her, I send her images of her breathing me in, adding the thoughts and feelings I'd had in the moment. It works like a charm.

_We're flying high above the mountains and she's embracing my neck a little tighter than usual and I don't know if she's scared of heights or if she just wants to be closer to me. I don't raise my hopes up until I swear I saw her breathe in my neck when she thought I was distracted. I have no idea how could she think I'd ever think of anything else when I have her so close in my arms, when all I can think is that I want to be able to breathe her in too._

_I'm not scared of heights_ , she thinks, almost smiling.

_Oh, I know._

Tamlin lowers his hands to her breasts and palms her nipples and I drink some more.

In Feyre's mind, I now take the liberty to insert myself in the picture and pretend for her that I'm the one touching her. That I'm the one biting her nipples and that it's okay if she moans. She _should_ moan.

I feel sickened and she feels sickened and she moans.

Tamlin slides up her nightgown and removes it, looking at her like she's his prey. And the way she smiles back at him, coyly and timidly—not my Feyre. I take comfort in that.

His kisses start trailing down and her body tenses and goes rigid. Miles away from her, I stiffen too. I'm reluctant for her but I'm also scared. Scared that this will be her breaking point and that she won't be able to go through with it; and I can't even imagine what sort of suspicion or doubt or tantrum he'll pull on her then.

I realize I'd accidentally sent those thoughts into her mind because she shivers.

"Wait," she whispers anyway before she can stop herself. Tamlin looks at her a bit confused.

 _He's going to feel how completely_ un _-lusting I am_ , she thinks to herself. _My arousal should be filling up the room by now. My scent is nowhere near that point._

I sigh heavily, drink again, then drink some more and hate myself when I think to her, _Buy yourself some time._

Feyre begins undressing him, ever so slowly, kissing every inch of his skin wishing she could bite it off. He moans delighted and she forces out a gracious giggle and I begin my maneuvers.

First, I send her my favorite images of her—all kinds. Smiling, laughing, fighting, undressing herself, sleeping, climaxing, bathing unconcerned in our bathroom; our first night out in Velaris, when she first looked alive after months; the first time she winnowed and tackled me to the ground; Starfall and her face covered in glittering spirit fluids while she first grinned at me.

Then I send her the ones guaranteed to have some physical effect on her. The Court of Nightmares—how drenched she was; my own feelings and thoughts of how badly I wanted her; how I imagined ways to take her then and there, in front of everyone; how I wished I could take my unexpectedly coated fingers and drive them up to my mouth.

Feyre then feels something fluttering in her stomach and that prompts me to continue.

(Even though she now feels his hardness pressed against her; even though she's now kissing his neck while he grabs her ass roughly. Even though she's now considering licking him dry just so maybe they can be done with it.)

I show her my thoughts of our night at the inn. The first time I touched her and how overwhelmed I was by it. How her rousing scent was filling every corner of that tiny crappy attic and overpowering every sense of my being. How she felt warm and tight and unbelievably hot. How painfully hard I'd become against her ass. How I couldn't decide between cumming or telling her I loved her right then and there when I watched her cum deliciously on my hand; how I did neither but still dreamt of it.

Feyre's breath caught in her throat and she groaned, managing to mentally choke out a thank you.

And so when Tamlin finally reaches her there, she's fairly wet. His tongue might help with that. And as he begins, she starts reliving the memories I'd sent her. Seeing that, I continue to send others—more explicit, more intense ones. Definitely more graphic and provoking.

She doesn't even acknowledge what Tamlin's doing anymore—her mind is someplace much farther away while she strokes his hair like she's there. She remembers to moan and pant now and then, but she knows she won't be able to fake the real thing. It has to be real.

So she clings to those images and starts working herself up on her own, thinking of me and my tongue on her. She looks down to Tamlin and tries to trick her mind into seeing dark locks instead of blond ones between her legs. She pictures violet eyes glancing up to her and smirking in the way that she loves. Her muscles begin tensing and Tamlin senses it, so he changes his approach, going rougher, but not in a good way. It distracts her and sets her back again.

Stupid, rookie mistake.

So I send images of myself licking her. Building her up ever so patiently to the point of having her begging me for release. I feel her shudder over the idea of me kissing her there, sucking and biting until she's breathless. So I show her the sight I had of her, splayed out on the table on our first time in the cabin. Covered in paint and so breathtakingly happy. I picture how she was dripping down her legs; how she came trembling wonderfully in my mouth while she shatters herself in his.

"Please," she begs. _Just be done with it_ , she adds mentally.

Tamlin looks up and smirks at her, sickeningly and unjustifiably satisfied with himself as she gasps for air.

I conjure up another bottle from my personal stash and brace myself for what's coming next.

He slowly begins sliding himself inside her, and she groans, hating every inch of him that enters her. He smiles down at her and she kisses him eagerly so as to not have to look at him another second, and as he begins moving, it starts getting easier for her to pretend.

 _It's not bad_ , she tries to convince herself. _It's not_ that _bad. I can work with thi_ s. I sigh, a bit relieved, and she misunderstands my action, feeling suddenly apprehensive and reflexively tensing around him. She ignores his consequent moans. _Rhys, no. That's not what I—_

_Feyre, no. Don't worry about me. Worry about yourself. Do and feel whatever you have to to get through this. I'll be right here no matter what. I would never judge you._

Tears start pooling in her eyes and Tamlin takes that as a good sign. My fists clench at his presumption, but I keep my self-control on a very tight leash. Feyre takes the opportunity to try to speed things up and moves with him, moaning more and more loudly with each thrust so he presumes her tears had been of pleasure.

But he's not even close and the weight of what she's doing, the part she's being forced to play is settling on her like a crashing anvil and the tears run down her face.

My breathing becomes heavy as my heart clenches painfully at that.

I tremble furiously.

I can't take this.

_Rhys, no._

She saw where my mind was going faster than I did. My absentminded attempt at winnowing halted abruptly, and I reinforced my grip on my thoughts so as to not risk sending her anything else that would make things even harder for her. I shut down my feelings, my mind, my whole consciousness and focused only on her.

_I love you. You are the single, greatest thing that's ever happened to me in my five centuries on this Earth. You are stronger and braver than anyone I have ever met, and as you know I'm pretty old at that. You can do this. You'll be done in no time and we'll be together very, very soon._

Tamlin starts pounding her faster and she's relieved. She scratches his back angrily and screams incoherently, trying to separate the sensation from the male inciting it. Her hand pulls him to her neck, an open invite to kiss her there so she doesn't have to bear his eyes on her. His thrusts are affecting her on some level, and she tries to set aside all judgements against herself and her body and embrace it. It works for a while.

 _Help me delude myself into this,_ Feyre pleads, ashamed desperation and guilt pouring out in her tone for asking that of me. But I comprehend her request when I realize what she's doing. She's using her own daemati powers to trick her body and mind into enjoying it—though "tolerating" it would be a better fit. Centuries of practice and it was still hard for me to manipulate my own mind, yet here she was.

She opens the crack in her mental walls a bit wider so I can start maneuvering inside it. Studying which strings to pull, which reactions to instigate. As I run my mental talons sensually on a specific thread, I sense that that was the right choice.

Feyre pulls on his hair like she's trying to take something out on him and he thrusts harder until her head is banging against the headboard. She doesn't care, she can't feel the pain, if anything she welcomes it so the sound of her skull clashing anchors her to where she is, because now my words are settling into her—

_Abstain yourself from the world around you. This feeling down your sex is all there is. There's no one else. There's only it and—_

_You. There's only you, Rhys_ , she says.

Then she's wrapping herself around me, around my _essence_ in full dominance of her powers. I'm left mesmerized. She's so full of my presence and inflamed by it that she has to focus not to moan—

"My name, Feyre," Tamlin groans, “Say my name.”

Feyre growls, digging her nails deep into his flesh until it draws out blood as she moans his name.

I shudder and block the sound of it, and so does she.

But it doesn't matter, not really, because with every thrust he makes she thinks of my name. Rhys. Repeatedly. Time and time again—Rhys, Rhys, Rhys, synchronized with the sound of her head hitting the wooden bedhead. If it wasn't for the context it'd be wonderfully satisfying to hear.

Wanting to speed things up, she reaches from behind him to stroke his balls and he moans loudly. She hates the sound—has no idea how one day she'd ever thought it to be appealing. And so she moves to rub herself back up against him, hoping it will urge him on and provide friction enough to set off something inside her.

"Come with me, Feyre," he grunts, husky.

She has no desire to. But she clenched around him anyway and hoped for the best. At this point, I'm no longer reluctant to interfere. I rub my mental talons on that newfound thread in her mind and feel her muscles shivering violently from the stimulation. She screams before she even realizes it and he spills himself inside her.

In the state of bliss she has now found herself in, she doesn't care. Doesn't care that he's on top of her or that his juices are now running down her legs—she can barely remember his name or if it ever meant something to her.

Tamlin holds her in his arms as my name floats and flies around in her mind like a swarm of fireflies on a quiet night. His limbs wrapped around her are barely acknowledged. They're just weights she easily slipped away from as she excused herself to go to the bathroom. And he's so self-absorbed in his own state of ecstasy and exhaustion that he doesn't notice she actually walked out to the balcony.

Feyre looks up to the night sky. It's nothing compared to the ones in the Night Court, but it will do for now, she thinks. Though I quickly fixed it by showing her my own view of the sky.

It was comforting for both of us to think that, even though we were thousands of miles away, we were still watching and standing under the same sky.

 _How are you?_ , I dared ask.

_I don't know. I'm not quite... here, in me yet, I guess._

_Yeah, it takes some time to feel like yourself again_.

Feyre lets slip a quick flashback of me quietly sitting on the floor next to her on her cell Under the Mountain. My expression is miserable according to her personal assessment of if back then. I shiver slightly, because I know exactly which night that was and how much Amarantha demanded of me.

 _Exactly_ , I manage to mutter.

But Feyre quickly brushes the memory aside and apologizes.

 _Thank you_ , she thinks, full of emotion. _For this—for everything. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here._

_Anything for you, my love._

_I miss you. I miss you so much it's physically painful._

_I know. I miss you too. Terribly. We all do here._

Feyre looks over her shoulder to check if Tamlin is watching or listening, but he seems to be asleep. For the split of a second, she wickedly muses how surprised he'd be to wake up to her slashing his throat with a kitchen knife. Then she falls back into herself, suddenly slightly ashamed that I witnessed this unrestrained dark side of her.

 _I see you. You don't scare me_. I repeat to her the words she'd once said to me. _I love all of you, wholly... And besides, it's not that bad of an idea anyways_. I add, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

She tries to laugh, but she's not there yet. Her mind is battling over the fact that she won't be able to escape sleeping there in his bed tonight. But she stops thinking about it—while I'm still here, at least. She thinks _I_ have been through enough today.

 _Feyre_..., I begin, ready to give a speech about how she doesn’t need to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself to protect me, that I can take it, that I happily take anything coming from her, that I’ll always listen to her and support her no matter what; but she quickly interrupts me.

 _You're better than anything I could have ever dreamed for myself_ , she says, and the words warm my gelid heart. To think that not long ago I didn't even have her in my life—and now she'd completely overtaken it. To think only months ago I ached at the thought that she'd never see me as anything other than a monster; that I'd found my mate only to have my soul crushed by her; that she could never love me and that was not unexpected, because I could never deserve it. And now to hear her say that...

If she heard my pitiful musings or not, she didn't say. But she did add, _Thank you, Rhys. For existing. And for this—this is the best and worst thing anyone's ever done for me._

I simper sadly, because there's really no answer for that. My pleasure? Not really. But there wasn't anything I wouldn't readily do for her.

Finally lying down on my bed, I keep her company while she sits down on the floor of the balcony and watches the stars while I stare at the ceiling. It doesn't feel fair to appreciate the sky here on a night like this, not when she can't be here to do the same, not when she has to settle for a far less beautiful view.

Our minds are everywhere and nowhere. But they're wrapped around each other as close as they can be. If I close my eyes and concentrate, I can almost smell her. My scent will undoubtedly be there tomorrow, but she thinks that she'd rather take that risk than let me go now, and hopes Tamlin's scent will be enough to mask my own.

Before she returns to the bed she's anguished to have to sleep in, she realizes she'll have to update her list of recurrent nightmares, as she's absolutely sure the events of tonight will come up in her dreams eventually. She shivers at the thought of having to relive it, afraid to fall down into that empty cold hole she’d hidden in for so long. But I remind her just before she lies down beside the male she so dreadfully loathes, _You need not worry. I'll always be here to catch you, my Feyre darling._

And so I stay up all night, filling her mind with peaceful, sightly images as she slides away into unconsciousness; making sure that at least for tonight, her dreams aren't so terrible as reality.

**Author's Note:**

> as usual comments and kudos are welcomed :)


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